All Roads Lead to Nowhere
by tromana
Summary: After O'Laughlin's death, she thought it would eventually get easier. Seems Van Pelt's family has other ideas... Mentalist Big Bang 2011 fic.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **All Roads Lead to Nowhere**  
><strong>Author: <strong>**tromana**  
><strong>Rating: <strong>**T**  
>Characters: <strong>Van Pelt, team**  
><strong>******Summary: ******After O'Laughlin's death, she thought it would eventually get easier. Seems Van Pelt's family has other ideas...**  
><strong>********Disclaimer: ********If it were mine, this wouldn't have been made completely AU.**  
><strong>**********Notes: **********This is the first of my two Mentalist Big Bang fics for 2011. It was written prior to the broadcast of Season 4. So yes, it has been made AU since then, so I apologise. Thank you to branquignole for being the most awesome artist in the world and to Miss Peg and lil smiles for being wonderful cheerleaders. Finally, to the amazing, amazing Divinia Serit for betaing despite everything she's been through of late. Somebody give that girl a pineapple. Or a round of applause, I suppose.

**All Roads Lead to Nowhere**

**Part One**

The cup of tea sat stagnating on her kitchen table.

Jane had once extolled the virtues of a nice cup of tea to her and thus, making herself one was the first thing she had done when she entered her kitchen. For some reason, nothing else made sense. All she wanted and needed to do was sit down, with a hot drink in her hands and try to forget everything else that had happened. However, that was easier said than done. This wasn't going to be easy. Then again, when was anything ever easy?

It was the middle of the night and the world felt - was - deathly silent. Van Pelt didn't like that. Then again, she didn't much like the situation she found herself in either. It seemed like her entire world had been turned upside down and she would give anything for it to all be simplified once more. However, simplicity was something reserved purely for fairytales and myths, not real life.

Only problem was, her mom had brought her up on fairytales. Taught her that they could become reality, if only she worked hard enough to earn it.

While her father had constantly reminded her of the benefits of being strong and the best of the best, her mother had always been insistent that she stayed in touch with her feminine side. Her sister, too. Amos Van Pelt had loved his daughters to death, but part of him had always craved a son. So, when Grace had been born and her mother rendered infertile in the process, he had used all of his power to ensure that both his girls had a little bit of tom-boyishness in them. It led to them both being a little bit of a contradiction in terms. Van Pelt had appreciated that. Along with being blessed (and cursed) with good looks, it meant she kept the boys on their toes. They didn't understand her and therefore, she found it easier to lure in those of interest and scare away those who she didn't approve of.

It was just a shame that she hadn't been quite as good a judge of character as she had always thought she was.

Why the hell hadn't she been able to learn from her past? Dan Hollenbeck had been suave, charming, everything she had been looking for in a man and yet, he had only wanted her due to her connections with Jane. And now, exactly the same thing applied to Craig O'Laughlin. The man had even been willing to attempt to marry her in order to ingratiate himself with the CBI on behalf of Red John.

Red John.

The _bastard_.

He was the one to blame for all of this. If it hadn't been for him, if he hadn't _existed_, then she wouldn't have been romanced by O'Laughlin and her heart broken all over again. She would never have killed a man she had loved, her prospective fiancé. The man, whom less than twenty four hours ago, she still believed she would marry and spend the rest of her life with. Lisbon would never have received a serious gunshot wound and had to be rushed to the ER for major surgery. Hightower's kids wouldn't have been traumatized and still be in shock hours after the shooting.

And Jane wouldn't have let them all down. He wouldn't have been arrested and thrown mercilessly into the CBI holding cells in preparation to be sent to jail. Jane wouldn't have learned what it was like to willfully take a life, something Van Pelt could never imagine doing herself. The only times she had ever shot to kill were in self-defense, or to protect other people. Or both, for that matter. It was a fact of her life that was particularly painful, especially at this moment in time. If it wasn't for Red John and O'Laughlin, there wouldn't be any blood on his hands, his family would still be alive and he wouldn't be the flawed, broken individual she had come to love, in an entirely platonic way.

Then again, if it hadn't been for Red John, she would never have met Jane in the first place. Never learned some of his nifty little tricks, things that did make her a better cop. She wouldn't have had her eyes opened to a world she never would have had a chance to believe in, despite having been spoon-fed fairytales by her mom.

The chair leg screamed as she roughly pulled it against the linoleum. Van Pelt remained almost oblivious to the noise. She didn't care anymore; what was the point? Caring just seemed to lead to disaster and heartache.

That was another lesson she should have learned years ago. Clearly, she was just a glutton for punishment. Doomed never to bloom and grow, to always make the same mistakes time and time again. She wondered how other people did it, to move on, to accept their faults, to make them work for them, Lisbon, with her tragic history, had made something of herself. The way that Cho had channeled his childhood angst into something far more positive. How Rigsby had grown to become a decent human being with a despicable lowlife for a father.

How Jane…

Well. Maybe he wasn't the best of examples. Especially not now.

Grabbing her cell phone, not that she had any reason to, she left the kitchen and stalked straight to her bedroom. She didn't even bother to look at the time; all she knew was that it was definitely one of those hours that her dad would call 'inhumane'.

The tea remained on the table, waiting to be dealt with come morning. Or when she chose to drag herself out of bed, whichever came first.

xxx

Van Pelt slept fitfully, waking every couple of hours. In all honesty, she was grateful that she had managed to doze off at all; a little sleep was better than none at all. With her mind whirring at a frenetic pace, she had half suspected that she would spend the night tossing and turning. Besides, her bed was empty and cold, something which she wasn't used to anymore. It felt… lonely, being alone. Even more so knowing that the person who was supposed to be sleeping on the other side of the bed was never going to be there again. There had been times when they had been separated overnight due to work, but that was different. It always was. The sense of security that sooner or later, O'Laughlin would be back in her arms was gone.

Instead, it had been replaced with the unsettling notion that he had never really been in love with her in the first place. That their whole relationship had been based on deceit and lies. That she had been naïve enough to believe that everything they had, everything they'd shared had been real and really, all he had been doing was pulling the wool over her eyes.

She was grateful that the Medical Examiner had allowed her access to the body. Van Pelt wasn't quite sure why she needed to see him again, not when she, along with Hightower, had been the one to gun him down in the first place. Still, the woman was kind and accepting, despite the fact that she had arrived at the morgue at the crack of dawn. She _had _been engaged to him, after all. Even after all of the revelations, it was hard to make feelings like that just vanish, evaporate, as if they meant nothing at all. It wasn't as if there was a button she could press to turn them off, however much she wished she could.

Instead, it would take time. Time to accept that she had been living a lie, that she had been willing to trust her heart with a cold-hearted bastard like O'Laughlin. That everything she had believed, everything she had stood for had been whisked away from underneath her feet. She had always told herself that she would never fall for the wrong guy, that they weren't worth getting her heart broken over. And yet, three times in a row, she had done just that. When was she going to learn?

O'Laughlin's body was just how she expected it to be. Pallid under the harsh lighting and slightly cool to the touch. He was still wearing the band she had given him on Valentine's Day on his pinkie finger, even. Obviously, the Medical Examiner hadn't done her job quite as thoroughly as she should have done; had forgotten to remove it and bag it up for the next of kin, for herself. Part of her wanted to believe that he was sleeping and she was waiting for him to wake up and give her a warm embrace. That he would tell her that it was all an elaborate joke he'd cooked up with Jane and that she had fallen for it hook, line and sinker. Of course he hadn't been a mole for Red John, why would _anyone_ believe that? He was a member of the FBI, an upstanding citizen and all around good guy. Not a lowlife criminal who was easily swayed by serial killers. Instead, as her eyes were drawn bitterly to the gunshot wounds on his chest, she remembered that it wasn't possible. That he had done what he'd done and meant what he said. And she would just have to accept that, sooner or later.

She stared at her left hand. The engagement ring was still there; she had gotten to the stage where she was so used to wearing it that she barely noticed it all. Van Pelt twisted it around her finger before slowly tugging it off. There was no point in wearing it, not any more. The problem was, she wasn't even sure what to do with it now. Their whole relationship had been a lie and the ring signified exactly that. But still, it was a beautiful piece of jewelry and she didn't want to just cast it aside. That would have been such a waste. Instead, she pocketed it. It was something she could decide later, when her mind was less jumbled up.

As she left the state morgue, she inclined her head slightly at the ME in gratitude. There was only so much hanging around dead bodies someone could do with_ their_ spare time. Now, she had to remind herself that there _were_ things she could still be grateful for, even if it didn't feel like it right now.

**TBC...**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **And part two... thank you to: macisgate, TwilightLover-CarlisleandEsme and dreamingofabetterday for reviewing part one.

x tromana

* * *

><p><strong>Part Two<strong>

"I bought you these."

"Thank you. You shouldn't have."

She laid the bunch of flowers on the bedside table and offered a weak smile.

Van Pelt had spent much of yesterday evening in the hospital. She hadn't particularly wanted to watch Cho question Jane and was more than relieved that he and Rigsby had actively encouraged her to wait for news on Lisbon's prognosis. The surgery had taken longer than she had expected and when she had eventually left - gone midnight - Lisbon was drugged up to the eyeballs, though mercifully conscious. Despite that, her superior had been treating the injury as if it were merely routine, something to be expected.

Then again, if she had been in the job for as long as Lisbon had, maybe she would have reacted in the same way. It wasn't as if she'd never been injured in the call of duty.

Except, her injuries had never been potentially life-threatening. She'd been protected, or just mildly inconvenienced at most. If O'Laughlin had been luckier with his shot, he wouldn't have been the only one in the state morgue. Instead…

Quickly, Van Pelt shook her head. She couldn't let herself think like that. Not again. What ifs never got her anywhere. Recently, she had spent a lot of her free time wondering about how life could have been if things had happened differently. If her mother had survived the accident, if her sister hadn't pointed a gun at her own head.

"I wanted to," she eventually answered and sat down. "How are you doing?"

"Fine. Really," Lisbon responded, "and there's no need to look at me like that."

"Sorry."

Tearing her gaze away from Lisbon, Van Pelt stared determinedly at the floor. The last thing she wanted to do was make her boss feel even more uncomfortable. She knew that Lisbon was lying; it was something she did time and time again in order to protect herself. Van Pelt could sympathize with her sentiment entirely, but in situations such as this, there was little point. It was obvious that she was still in a considerable amount of pain. She didn't need to be a doctor to know that.

"Don't be, you saved my _life_."

"No I didn't. If I'd been quicker, then you wouldn't have been injured at all."

"You really think that he would have stopped there? If you hadn't been there and if Hightower hadn't been armed…"

"I was the one who brought him there. If I didn't…"

"Then he may well have killed you on your own," Lisbon continued and Van Pelt frowned. "Grace, you did a good job."

"I was only doing what _you've_ trained me to do."

"Nonsense, you learned that at the Academy and back home."

Van Pelt arched an eyebrow. It was so typical of Lisbon to not be able to take a compliment, even in a situation such as this, when she would have been justified for doing so. Then again, she had just been as bad as the other woman. Lisbon was right; she had helped to rectify the situation, even if she had been partially to blame for causing it in the first place. However, Van Pelt couldn't remember a moment since she had joined the SCU when Lisbon hadn't been there for them. The sacrifices she'd made, risking her own life and own career, time and time again, just for the health and happiness of her unit were outstanding. Van Pelt knew she had done good, back in the hideout, but at the same time, the situation would never have arisen if she had been aware of who O'Laughlin really was.

"Is there anything I can get you?" she asked, swiftly changing the subject.

"You don't have to…"

"No, really, I insist," Van Pelt persisted. Thinking about other people meant that she didn't have to address her own personal woes.

"A coffee, then."

"I'll just go get you one from down the hall and..."

"No," Lisbon interrupted, immediately silencing Van Pelt. "A real coffee. Not the industrial crap that makes the CBI's offerings look good."

She couldn't help it; she had to laugh. Then again, Lisbon did have a point. The coffee in hospitals was always dire.

"It's good to see you smile," Lisbon muttered.

"How do you do it?"

"What?" she asked, genuinely perplexed.

Van Pelt shrugged. "Never mind. I was just thinking out loud."

"Van Pelt…"

"I'd better go," she said hurriedly, keen to end the conversation. "I'll come back soon, okay? With that coffee. And don't rush back to work. We'll be fine without you, I promise."

"But what about you? How are _you_?"

"I'm fine."

Before Lisbon even had a chance to challenge her, Van Pelt swept out of the room. She couldn't talk about it, not yet. They had been dancing dangerously close to the precipice and if she even let herself think about it again, she was scared that she would crumble. That was something she couldn't risk, not in front of the boss. She had to remain professional, even if it was just a social call to the hospital. If she showed any chinks in her armor, then Lisbon would have told tell Cho and then, she would have been forced to take time off work.

And work was a distraction. Something she desperately needed right now.

xxx

"I thought you weren't coming back 'til tomorrow."

She merely shrugged at Rigsby's statement as she slung her jacket on the back of her chair. Quickly, she glanced at the beaten leather couch, which was all the more conspicuous by Jane's absence. Things were going to take a lot of getting used to, even here. The news of Jane's arrest and subsequent charging had inevitably spread through the entirety of the CBI like wildfire. The same could be applied to Lisbon's hospitalization and Hightower's now apparent innocence. Van Pelt didn't envy LaRoche, or Bertram, for that matter. Everything that had recently happened had seriously compromised the CBI's status as the premier policing agency in California. Their reputation would certainly be dented, in several ways, and that would lead to more radical changes. Something which she didn't particularly relish at this moment in time. What with all the sudden changes that had happened in the past twenty four hours, it would have been nice for _something_ to remain constant.

Then again, since when did anything remain constant? Her past few years, with the Serious Crimes Unit had probably just lulled her into a false sense of security. It was almost unheard of for a core team to remain so stable for such a length of time. Sooner or later, someone got a promotion, retired or decided to retrain for whatever reason. And yet, since becoming the rookie member, all she had had to contend with was the odd change in management. Something which, for the most part, only affected her indirectly. It wasn't as if she was in regular contact with them; that was Lisbon's domain. So, it was hardly surprising if she had become complacent in that regard. And it was even less surprising that she had grown so fond of her work colleagues.

Her cell phone rang out, pulling her from her reverie. Van Pelt frowned. She wasn't expecting any calls. Her dad usually rang at the weekends and it wasn't as if O'Laughlin was going to ring anymore. Dubiously, she dug the device out of her pocket and stared at it as if it had committed a heinous crime.

Them. It just had to be, didn't it? Whenever they called, it always spelled out more doom and gloom. As if she needed anymore of that at this particular moment in time. Still, Van Pelt answered the call swiftly as she made her way to the elevator. The last thing she wanted was Rigsby or Cho to overhear. That would only lead to more questions. Besides, she could always lie and say it was her dad, telling her that one of his dogs was sick or something equally inane. They wouldn't suspect otherwise and even if they did, they were both genuinely too polite to question it.

"Hello?"

"Good afternoon, Miss Van Pelt," the woman on the other end said primly. "I'm sorry to say this, but-"

"Just give me a couple of minutes."

She ignored the indistinct muffled complaints; quite frankly, she didn't care. When she had given them her cell phone number, Van Pelt had made it entirely clear that they weren't to use it during working hours. They had only had the number for two months and already, they were flagrantly disobeying her instructions. No wonder people had a problem with doctors, shrinks and the like, if that was how little regard they had for things like that. Besides, her patience was already running rather uncharacteristically short.

"Yes?" she snapped, once outside in the parking lot.

"She tried to commit suicide again."

"Oh."

That was all Van Pelt had to say on the matter. It wasn't as if it was anything new to her. This was a regular occurrence, so it simply didn't faze her as much as it should. The first time she had done it, she had stolen Van Pelt's own gun and she'd been powerless but to watch. She remembered the harrowing trip to the ER, waiting, waiting for good news. Keeping her fingers and toes crossed that her sister hadn't actually managed to kill herself. Praying that she would be alright, that she wouldn't be joining their dearly departed mother. Wishing that she hadn't actually resorted to this, for no apparent reason. Feeling that sense of relief wash over her when she heard that she would, indeed, be fine.

Then repeating the harrowing experience every six months, give or take, for the past seven years.

"We've taken her to hospital, but she should be fine."

"Good."

"Will you be wanting to visit?"

"Work is awfully busy…" she lied through her teeth.

The last thing she wanted to do right now was visit her sister. Melody Van Pelt was apparently still so desperate to die. She didn't want to be saved, wouldn't talk about her demons, wouldn't give anyone a chance to help. Essentially, when Melody had fired that first fateful shot, Van Pelt had already lost her sister. It was just a matter of time when her sister would get 'lucky' and get her wish, while the doctors failed to work their magic on her.

"Grace, this is your sister we're talking about," the woman snapped, somewhat patronizingly. "If she doesn't make it, you'll never forgive yourself."

"And you just said she'll be fine," Van Pelt retorted back. "I'll see her when I can."

She was shaking when she slammed the phone down angrily. Raising her right hand, she pinched the bridge of her nose to fend off the oncoming headache. Really, she shouldn't have let herself grow so angry at the situation. Like so many other things, it was out of her control and there was _nothing_ she could do about it.

If only she could remember that more often.

**TBC...**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **I'm shattered, my migraine is only going away with medical intervention (and very slowly at that) and yeah. That's all I have to say really.

Thank you to: blueeyedmentalistfan, Aeidhryn and TwilightLover-CarlisleandEsme for reviewing part two. I'll reply properly to your reviews soon.

x tromana

* * *

><p><strong>Part Three<strong>

As was typical with cases, another seemingly sprang out of nowhere. There was no rest for the wicked and in a way, it was exactly what she'd been hoping for. Not that Van Pelt particularly liked the idea of people killing one another, mind. But it was a distraction, it got her away from the paperwork pertaining to the case they'd just closed. The one which had changed everything and she resolutely didn't want to think about. It also kept her away from her sister, which would only be something to further her bout of depression.

It was less than twenty four hours after seeing the body, _O'Laughlin's_ body, and they were already chasing down a suspect. Van Pelt had long since learned that innocent people don't run, but that didn't necessarily mean that this man had killed Patricia Morales. It could simply have meant that the man was guilty of something else, something they didn't know about yet. She remained in silence as they traveled in the SUV to the last known location of the man. Nobody was in the mood to talk about anything but the case; it was obvious that they were all suppressing various feelings of rage and despair at the whole sorry situation. Sooner or later, that would change, but for now, all three of them found it easier to just bottle things up.

Quietly, she thanked Rigsby as he passed her a bulletproof vest. She hoped that there wouldn't be any need for it, that the suspect would be unarmed. The last time one of them had ended up on the wrong end of a gun, they'd been hospitalized. Van Pelt shook her head. Now was not the time to be thinking about Lisbon. All she should be focusing on was doing the job right. And that meant successfully apprehending Abhay Desai before he disappeared on them. It was something they had done time and time again, it was practically routine. She was a good cop, who had been trained well and knew exactly what she was doing. There was no need for her to feel so nervous about it all.

Then again, she had also thought she had been an excellent judge of character and look where that had landed her.

"Van Pelt, I want you to cover the back entrance. Rigsby, the basement," Cho ordered as he unlatched his gun.

"Yes, boss."

It felt uncomfortable, almost wrong calling Cho the boss. Yes, it had happened on a few rare occasions in the past, but that didn't stop it from jarring. Just a couple of days ago everything had been fine, normal even and now they had to run on a skeleton crew. On a _normal_ day, she most likely wouldn't have even been required out on the field. She'd have been back in the office, looking up the paper trails, trying to find out if Morales had any investments worth killing her over.

Still, she attempted to clear her thoughts, to focus on the back door and the gun in her hands. They all needed a win, now more than ever. Just something to boost morale during these times of uncertainty. Besides, at any given second, Desai could burst out of it and make a run for it. Then, she would be required to make chase to ensure he didn't slip through their fingers.

And that was exactly what happened.

The only problem was, she didn't expect him to run straight into busy oncoming traffic. They just had to try and make the bust during rush hour, didn't they? Cho and Rigsby had attempted to make chase too, but she had been closer and even she had been unable to keep up. The moment he disappeared behind a truck, she knew that she'd have problems. It had provided Desai with the ideal distraction and thus, he seemed to have disappeared in a split second.

As soon as she was back at the SUV, she ripped the bulletproof vest off with venom and threw it angrily into the trunk. It was her fault he'd gotten away. If she'd remained focused, instead of daydreaming, then she would have reacted quicker. And then, they might have been able to get a little bit closer to closing this damn case.

xxx

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Agent Cho informed me of your performance in the field earlier today."

"I know," Van Pelt said simply.

LaRoche indicated to the chair opposite him and apprehensively, she sat down. She hated coming to this office; it always spelt out ominous news. It didn't matter who the current incumbent was, it was always the exactly the same. The dressings and name on the door were the only things that really changed. Just because the special senior agent was now J.J. LaRoche , with his brusque manner and no-nonsense attitude about getting the job done, it didn't mean he was going to go any easier on her. If anything, it was going to be even worse.

"What happened?"

"I…" she started, but trailed off, not quite sure how to phrase it.

"You lost it?"

"Yes, sir, but I…"

"You're not ready to be back at work, Van Pelt," LaRoche said impassively. "That much is obvious."

"I'm fine. Really, I am."

"So, why did the prime suspect in the," he paused to briefly check the notes laid out in front of him. "Morales case escape from under your nose?"

"I was unlucky," she answered back dourly. "It could have happened to anyone."

"But it happened to _you_."

She nodded. There was absolutely no way she could argue with that logic. However, it wasn't her fault. How could she have predicted that the man would willingly run into oncoming traffic, just to escape from their clutches? They knew why, now. He was an illegal immigrant, terrified that they were immigration officers, finally catching up with him. Really, they were lucky that he was still alive and therefore, it would still be possible to question him with regards to the murder sooner or later.

"Give me your badge, Van Pelt."

"I haven't done anything _wrong_."

"True, but you need a vacation, some time to recover. Even if it's just for a week or two."

"But Lisbon hasn't said I should…"

"Agent Lisbon is on sick leave until she gets clearance to return and therefore, is in no position to argue otherwise," LaRoche interrupted once more. "Cho is the interim senior agent of the Serious Crimes Unit and he agrees with _my_ decision."

"Yes, boss."

The words were bitter. As far as Van Pelt was concerned, this was the last thing she needed. Work was a distraction, a reprieve from thinking about everything. What the hell did they expect her to do with her time off? All it would succeed in doing was have her sitting around and growing all the more miserable about everything that had happened lately. What she needed was to feel useful, like she was doing something constructive. Instead, it was just being snatched away from her in the blink of an eye.

As she left LaRoche's office, she slammed the door behind her. It was a small act of rebellion, but at least it made her feel just a little better.

xxx

She had hoped to slip out of the CBI headquarters unnoticed. After yet another unexpected blow, she wasn't really ready to talk to either of the guys. All they would have to offer her was false sympathy and fake apologies. Neither of them would be sorry about what had just happened; if anything, they would be relieved that she was forcibly being made to take a break. Like everybody else, it seemed, they had thought that she was overdoing it. That she needed time to gather her thoughts and the like. But how much of that could she do? Already, she was just covering old ground. Sometimes, it felt like that was all she ever did.

"I heard about your meeting with LaRoche."

Van Pelt practically jumped out of her skin when Rigsby approached her from behind, clutching a mug of steaming hot coffee in his hands. Quickly, he apologized and placed the beverage on his desk before returning to her side. She stared deeply into his eyes and the sincere look reminded her of what she'd lost. It felt familiar, but not necessarily in a good way. If Hightower had never chased up the ludicrous fraternization rules, then she would never have even considered letting O'Laughlin into her life.

And there she was, doing it again. Thinking about everything that could have happened, what _should_ have happened instead.

"That was tough," Rigsby continued and she had barely noticed that he had been talking at all. "It could have happened to any of us."

"Yeah, well. It happened to me, so I have to take the blame."

Rigsby narrowed his eyes a little in response. "You're sounding a little like Lisbon, you know."

She knew immediately from his tone that the implication was that it wasn't a particularly good thing.

"One of us has to."

"Really?" he inquired, genuinely intrigued by her point of view.

"And besides," she soldiered on, as if she hadn't been interrupted. "She's done well for herself. She's a good role model."

"Only in her career, Grace. Look at all the sacrifices she's made elsewhere."

Van Pelt shrugged. It seemed like a decent career was more than what she had right now. Sometimes, she swore that she was doomed to be the inexperienced rookie for the rest of her life. When she had moved to Sacramento and gotten the job with the CBI, she had been full of high hopes. She could finally afford her sister's medical bills and it was a career with real potential, rather than being stuck in some backwater dump investigating who stole who's car and the like. On paper, it had been perfect. Then again, paper and reality never quite matched up.

"Do you want to go out? For a coffee and a chat?"

"You've just got one," she stated, nodding in the direction of his drink.

"I can easily get rid of it," he answered quickly.

"No, Rigsby," she replied dejectedly; she just couldn't bring herself to have a heart to heart with him, of all people. "But thanks."

**TBC...**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Thank you to TwilightLover-CarlisleandEsme for reviewing part three.

x tromana

* * *

><p><strong>Part Four<strong>

It was beginning to feel like she should just move into the hospital, or at least rent out a room there so she could crash whenever she was in the general vicinity. In reality, this was only her second visit in three days, but that didn't stop her from feeling like she was in and out of the place like a yoyo. Then again, hospitals had always felt like ominous places to Van Pelt as you could never be sure whether or not your loved ones would come out of the building alive or dead.

As promised, she headed straight towards Lisbon's ward with a coffee in hand. Her superior immediately seemed to be in far brighter spirits than she had been two days beforehand and justifiably so. It was a relief to see at least one person she cared about well on the road to recovery. It also felt like a change. She was almost growing used to one blow after another, that nothing would faze her any more.

The visit didn't last long. Though Lisbon was obviously feeling a lot better than she had been and would soon be discharged, socializing was still taking a lot out of her. And she would clearly have a long way to go before she was fit for work. Besides, her brother, James, was due imminently and it was more important that she talked to him than just Van Pelt. So, she placed the coffee on the bedside table with a wry smile before explaining her intentions. If California wouldn't allow her the distractions she needed, she would go home to Iowa in order to find them. Besides, her dad would inevitably be thrilled to see her. He was always complaining that he didn't see enough of his little Gracie these days.

After she left Lisbon in peace, she debated with leaving the hospital entirely. Melody was meant to be her big sister, the one who guided her through life. As a child, Van Pelt had idolized her, wanted to be just like her. Now, she couldn't stand the sight of her. How could she be so selfish? Why couldn't she see that there was a reason to life at all? Van Pelt spent most of her days staring at dead bodies or fighting to arrest criminals in one way or another and yet, she still had hope. So, it may have been waning of late, but she still had some. Things would get better for her eventually, after all, they couldn't get much worse, could they?

But her sister, she just tried to end it all time and time again. She was the very definition of a tortured soul. Maybe even more so than Patrick Jane, who had at least tried to channel his energies, albeit in a very destructive manner. So, as she walked out of one ward and headed towards another, her feet dragged. Time seemed to slow. Her heart thumped painfully. Hadn't she lost enough people lately? Though her sister's psychiatrist had said she should be fine, it didn't mean she would be. She could still theoretically make a turn for the worst. Or already have done so, while she had been stubbornly ignoring her cell phone in attempt to focus on her job.

Besides, they said bad luck happened in threes. The whole Red John and O'Laughlin debacle was one. Her sister attempting suicide again was the next. What would be the third? Melody actually dying?

All too soon, she was at the secure unit for inpatients who were also classified as a threat to themselves and others. This section of the hospital was oppressive; it always had been. Then again, the people they dealt with here were genuinely all in the same state as her sister: those who tried to kill themselves. They needed special care, watching at all hours just in case they tried it again. The ward also always seemed to have staff to match. Her heart sank when she saw they had yet another new receptionist manning the ward. This one looked more dour than the previous three put together.

"Hello, I'm here to see Melody Van Pelt?"

"And you are?" the receptionist asked, with narrowed eyes.

"Grace, her sister."

"Have you got any I.D.?"

Van Pelt suppressed the urge to roll her eyes and instead, dug out her badge. She may have given one copy to LaRoche earlier, the one that she ordinarily kept clipped to her belt or slung around her neck, but that didn't stop her from keeping the other. In a swift motion, she flipped the badge holder open, leaving her identity visible for just long enough for the receptionist to confirm she was telling the truth and closed it again. Van Pelt couldn't help but notice the flicker of discomfort in the other woman's eyes at realizing she was a cop and felt a quick rush of pride course through her veins. It was, after all, the kind of job that meant something to people. And it was one of the few things she could still cling hold of right now. Besides, this old bat didn't know that she was technically just a rookie, either, Eventually, the receptionist gave her a swift nod and barked at her to make sure she washed her hands before allowing her entrance.

As she expected, her sister looked in a far sorrier state than Lisbon had done. Melody was still hooked up to oxygen, her eyes tightly shut and she seemed completely unaware of her current location. Machines surrounding her clicked, buzzed and flickered as they monitored all the appropriate statistics that the medics required. Still, Van Pelt sat beside her, placing her purse neatly by her feet. She was unfazed by all of this now, she had known what to expect when coming here. Briefly, she wondered if she should have bought some flowers, chocolate or something for Melody. After all, she had done so for her boss and Melody was her _family_. Then again, while Lisbon had clearly appreciated the gesture, Melody probably wouldn't have cared either way. And going by the looks of her, the flowers would probably have died before she was even aware she'd been given any.

"Hi Mels," she started briefly, feeling a little idiotic talking to a comatose woman. "You were right about O'Laughlin. He was a bastard."

Van Pelt laughed humorlessly. During her brief moments of lucidity, Melody had always said that men were bastards. That they'd screw women over one way or another and it was best not to let them in in the first place. She hadn't even approved of Rigsby, despite the fact they hadn't even met and that Van Pelt had assured her multiple times that he was a really sweet guy. Out of all of her exes, he had been the one she had been closest to telling about Melody. Despite being engaged to O'Laughlin, she had never told him about her. Then again, he had always been far more interested in her famous football coach father than any other member of her family.

"He's dead. I killed him. I had to, to save my life. And my boss'. You know, Lisbon? She's in this hospital too," Van Pelt continued, ignoring the tears springing up in her eyes. "Not that you care. You haven't done for years. Damn it, Mels, I need you. Why can't you be here for me? What have I done that's so wrong? I need my big sister."

Rushing slightly, she grabbed hold of her purse once more and swept out of the small room. There was no point in talking to Melody. It was only making things worse. She wasn't about to wake up and give her advice on how to deal with her grief. Nor was she going to tell her that she'd done the right thing, killing her fiancé in order to save four other people. Even if she was to wake up, Melody was too wrapped up in her own problems to even care about how anybody else felt. It didn't matter if other people's lives were a living hell, Melody Van Pelt's problems were always worse. Not that she let anybody know what these tragic secrets were. How could Van Pelt even try to save her if she wasn't willing to make that first leap alone?

Once safely back in her car, she allowed the tears to cascade freely. Van Pelt didn't want comfort, least of all from a stranger. They wouldn't understand the gravity of the situation, would just assume that she had received some bad news about a relative or something. Which was technically true, but there was so much more to her situation than that.

What she really needed right now, was a cuddle from her daddy.

xxx

As he promised, he was there to greet her as she deplaned. In his hands, was a plush toy and Van Pelt groaned inwardly. Since her mother's death, he seemed to have taken the idea into his head that he had to buy her one each and every time he saw her. Something to do with them providing her with comfort, or the like. However, he hadn't quite grasped the fact that she had long since grown out of the need to snuggle up to stuffed toys to go to sleep at night. Still, she knew she should be grateful; after all, it was the one somewhat feminine luxury he seemed to allow her.

The cuddly dog fell to his feet and she immediately dropped her luggage to accept the embrace. Finally, the little comfort she had so desperately craved. She buried her head in the crook of his neck as he ran a hand reassuring through her vibrant red locks. Van Pelt missed this, seeing him regularly. Most of the time, the job was worth it and she had made some wonderful new friends in Sacramento. However, after the week she was having, she realized there was nothing quite like a father's love to get you through the tough times. If she could have the best of both worlds, he would have moved with her. But his career, along with his family roots, were firmly tied down to Iowa and he wasn't going to sacrifice that for anybody. Not even her.

Wordlessly, he picked up the bag and led her towards his van. Feeling rather like a small girl again, despite being within two inches of Amos Van Pelt's height, she fell into step behind him. Already, she was beginning to feel more at peace, being back at home. Things were simpler out here, easier to manage. It didn't have the complications of living in a big city like Sacramento. In short, it was the perfect place to clear her mind. And her dad would be the perfect person to discuss her recent trials with. She had no need to feel guilty about lumbering him with additional stress that he couldn't cope with. Nor did she feel uncomfortable with revealing her demons to him; he'd always understood, when she had really needed him. Besides, he always offered practical advice and there was nothing like his work hard, play hard, attitude for getting over life's little (and not so little) problems.

**TBC...**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **Apologies for not updating anything in a while. It's been a bad week, for a variety of reasons.

Thank you to TwilightLover-CarlisleandEsme for reviewing part four.

x tromana

* * *

><p><strong>Part Five<strong>

"Melody tried to kill herself again."

She brought the subject up over dinner. Her father was a traditionalist; if food was on the table, then nobody was to leave until the meal was over. Therefore, she knew that it was one of the few times he wouldn't try to escape on her. Van Pelt still hadn't talked to him about what had happened to the team - her family away from home - or O'Laughlin. Nor had she discussed Red John. For some reason she just hadn't felt quite ready to yet. That, and he probably already knew about the latter. Though the vast majority of Red John's murders occurred strictly within the borders of California, his death was big news for the entire country. So, Melody was the first item she was willing to offer up.

Unfortunately, she was also aware that her elder sister was the one her dad would least like to talk about too.

When Melody had tried to commit suicide for the first time, he had cut all ties with her. Van Pelt, naturally, had been horrified at the concept. But as far as Amos was concerned, suicide was a waste of a life, the refuge of the weak. It also went strictly against the word of the Bible, and having been brought up a Christian, went against everything he'd taught Melody. As far as he was concerned, no daughter of his would even consider doing such a thing. Therefore, the moment she had stolen Van Pelt's gun, Melody had lost her dad as well as her mom. It also left Van Pelt toeing the fine line between her sibling and her father. That was something she could manage most of the time, but it was always a difficult situation to be in.

Still, whenever Melody's suicidal tendencies flared up, she always felt obliged to tell her father. Sooner or later, he would understand that Melody was sick, that she couldn't help it. Yes, it still made her selfish and weak, but it wasn't _entirely_ her fault. It wasn't a reason to cast her aside as if she was a broken old cell phone, no longer of use. She was still a human being, still had thoughts and drive, albeit in an unhealthy manner. If anything, her illness meant she needed her family _more_, not less. She needed to see that she had reasons to live. Their dad's reaction to the whole sorry situation made it all the worse for her.

However, just because Van Pelt managed to feel some compassion for her sister, it didn't mean her father did. No amount of persuasion, begging, threats or bribery helped sway his decision either. Amos stuck by his beliefs rigidly and if anything, grew increasingly frustrated by Van Pelt's attempts to change them. That didn't stop her from trying though. The familial rift was something that she had grudgingly grown used to, but wanted to try and change. Quickly, she decided that she would use this vacation as an excuse to put her energies into that. A sad smile flickered over her lips; she knew that coming home would provide her with something to stop her from thinking about… stuff.

"I'm finishing this in the den," he answered stiffly as he stood, pushing one of the dog's heads off his lap and avoiding stepping on the tail of the other. "Don't wait up, Grace."

Van Pelt flinched at his tone. He only ever called her Grace when he was furious with her.

xxx

She was in another state, another house and another bed. And yet again, she endured another sleepless night.

It was strange how quickly she had acclimatized to life in the big city. When she had first moved, Van Pelt had thought that she would never get a moments peace. That she would never adjust to the constant hubbub of background noise, even during the dead of the night. Now, it was _too_ quiet. So much so that she was painfully aware of each and every breath she took, each loud thump of her heart. When she'd been back home, she had thought the night was deadly silent. It was now clearly obvious that that was not the case. She had almost forgotten just how peaceful her home town was, just how little actually happened there. It was almost like entering a time warp, one where life was suddenly simplified.

However, now that she was actually here, Van Pelt wasn't quite so sure that this was what she needed. She had grown used to being constantly challenged, constantly having something to do. Now, she was beginning to remember what it was like having to source out entertainment, to find things that needed her attention. She had come here for escape, found something she could think about instead, but it still wasn't enough. It didn't save her from her own thoughts.

Bitterly, she cursed at her own brain's betrayal. Then again, when people said that something was necessary, it was only natural to rebel. However, she was trying to tell herself what to do and that landed up with a contradiction. Sometimes, thinking really was like talking to another person, who also happened to be you. Only you knew just how stubborn you were yourself and therefore, you were even more likely to ignore good advice. Van Pelt pulled the comforter closely around her lithe body; she felt like she was being torn in two inside. One part wanted to dwell on everything that had just happened, to try and make sense of the mess that her life had become. Another just wanted to push it all down and pretend that it had never happened at all. And realistically, she knew that each option was as unhealthy as the other. There never was such a thing as a happy medium.

Uncomfortably, she tossed and turned, her body crammed into a small single bed. Bouncer whined, annoyed at being systematically kicked by Van Pelt, but the Labrador stubbornly refused to move. Her father had never considered that now, as an adult with a responsible job, one whom had been almost married, that she might have actually wanted something designed for two. He was trapped in a world where his youngest daughter was still a baby, where her opinions didn't matter and that he was firmly in charge. Of course he'd look after her and fight to the hills to protect her, but that didn't mean he was above belittling her at times.

Eventually, she gave up, though the dog remained happily snoozing. Peeping through the drapes, she could see that the sun was slowly beginning to rise. Running on automatic, Van Pelt slowly headed downstairs, taking care to avoid the steps that creaked. She didn't want to wake her father; she didn't know what kind of mood he would be in after bringing up his _other _daughter the evening before. Instead, she headed straight for the kettle. Tea, she needed tea. It had therapeutic benefits, or something. She needed something like that. Van Pelt drummed her fingers against the kitchen table as she waited for the water to heat up. Her mother had always been a fan of proverbs; she could practically hear her proclaiming that a watched pot never boiled.

Still, the moment her tea was ready, she sat down and continued to watch the sun's ascent through the kitchen window. Her fingers curled tightly around the mug, almost as if she was trying to absorb its heat. Periodically, she sipped at it, feeling a little calmer but wishing it would be as useful as people said it would be. It didn't switch off her mind, particularly, nor did it make her feel at peace with the world. However, it did give her hands something to do as she just sat and stared outside. That was better than nothing at all. So, when the mug was empty, she filled it up with another. And another. Lily came to join her soon, resting her head on Van Pelt's lap and she appreciated the company. At least a dog couldn't judge her for everything that had happened and how she was reacting to the situation.

"Good morning, Gracie," her father announced, a couple of hours later. "How long have you been up."

"Not long," she lied through her teeth.

Her dad didn't pick up on it. If Jane had been present, for some bizarre reason, he would immediately have called her out on it. He would probably have gotten a cheap thrill from embarrassing her in front of her father.

"That's good. Breakfast, then?"

xxx

The moment her father had disowned Melody, he'd transferred all of her belongings into the attic. It had broken her heart as she'd tried to beg him to reconsider. All she could do was watch as he packed everything into cardboard boxes and cast it aside as if it meant nothing. However, she had later found the fact he had kept it, rather than thrown it away with the trash, heartening. It meant that somewhere, deep down inside, that maybe he would eventually forgive Melody for attempting suicide (repeatedly). That he couldn't entirely cut ties with her, however much he thought he wanted to. That somehow, he still cared. It gave her that little bit of faith she needed to convince her that the situation could be rectified, sooner or later.

The stairs to the attic creaked slightly as she stepped up them. Nervously, she glanced over her shoulder. Van Pelt was aware that she was acting like a naughty schoolgirl, fearing being caught red-handed stealing cookies from the jar. Then again, if her dad realized exactly what she was heading up there for, then it could lead to problems. Especially as she had already planted the seed in his brain about her sister.

But then, she wasn't entirely sure why she needed to rummage through Melody's belongings either. Maybe it was a case of needing to feel close to her, as she was before her breakdown? Possibly, she wanted to see if it had any hints about why it occurred? Melody's problems were obviously so deep-rooted that she had to have written something. After all, she was still so unwell years later, where many people who had been committed had been rehabilitated and were fine. Or at least, fine to some extent, as mental illnesses were something that people could never truly recover from.

"What are you going up there for, Gracie?"

She cringed at the sound of her father's voice. Of course that was going to happen. It was just typical. He'd said he was going out to walk the dogs and yet, five minutes later, he was still at home. Van Pelt had sworn that she'd heard him leave, otherwise she wouldn't have started investigating in the first place. Then again, there was no need for her to feel so guilty, or so she told herself. This was her family home and she had every right to go in the attic if she needed to. She wasn't a little kid anymore; she was more than old enough to do things like that. Heck, she helped to protect the state of California. How many other people from small towns in Iowa had the right to say that?

"Just wanted to get some of my old college books, Dad," she muttered, avoiding eye contact.

"I thought you came here for a break from work?"

"I did," she answered back shortly. "I just…"

Stopping, she took the few steps down and turned to face him. It was funny how something that was meant to be a throwaway line, something to get him off her back had actually triggered the old thought processes again. A familiar stinging sensation irritated the corner of her eye, but she shook her head. She wouldn't cry; she'd done enough of that to last a lifetime already. Her father, noticing the shift in her mood, reached out to touch her left shoulder lightly. Van Pelt flinched in response; she could talk to him about it, really she could. The problem was, she didn't want to. He only knew that O'Laughlin was dead; he didn't know how, or why. Just that he'd been killed. She wasn't ready to sit down and explain it all. Somehow, that would have just made the whole situation feel so much more real.

"You just?"

"I need to see something to remind me why I love the job so much."

"And you thought stuff in the attic would help?" he replied with a furrowed brow.

"Yes."

Automatically, Amos enveloped his youngest daughter in a bear hug and squeezed her tightly. He didn't get around to telling her much, but he was so proud of her. Possibly even more so since Melody's demise. After all, she hadn't fallen off the rails, she had remained firmly on the straight and narrow. It was more than her despicable elder sister could claim. As far as he was concerned, she was the model daughter, perfect in every way.

"Why don't you go and visit Rodriguez and Mayer? I'm sure they'd love to see you."

"Dad…"

"What, you're a big city girl who's above the local law enforcement now, are you?"

Van Pelt punched him lightly in the arm and he chuckled slightly. It was a good idea though. For a start, it would make her feel better, seeing dedicated cops, doing their jobs. And also, they may just have records about both her mother's death and her sister's subsequent suicide. If she could find out that information, then she might just be getting somewhere.

"Never," she answered with a slight smile. "I'll go do that."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **It's been a while since I last updated, for no good reason other than sligtly sucky health issues. (Month long migraine? Boo. But I have a lot of painkillers now.) So, I apologise.

Thank you to: Chloris and TwilightLover-CarlisleandEsme for reviewing part five.

We're over halfway through this now...

x tromana

* * *

><p><strong>Part Six<strong>

Rodriguez and Mayer were such a double act. They were like yin and yang, positive and negative and yet, they worked. Rodriguez was tall, like a beanpole while Mayer was shorter and built like a tank. Based on appearances and their individual personalities, nobody would have thought they'd get along, but they did. Like two peas in a pod. In a way, Cho and Rigsby reminded her of them. It was half the reason why she had settled into the CBI so well. The familiarity of the banter in the office meant she had immediately felt at home. Van Pelt had almost come to the conclusion that every workplace needed a pair of clowns like them, otherwise it would be just too depressing to go into work.

The moment he saw her, Rodriguez insisted upon bumping fists with her, as he did with anyone he really cared about. Seconds later, Mayer had her enveloped in a hug. As she'd approached the building she had become so familiar with at the very start of her career, Van Pelt had felt a little trepidation. What if she was interrupting something? What if they had thought she'd deserted them in their hour of need for more money? However, her fears had been groundless and dissipated the moment that she had seen the pair of them, bickering over the last donut as they always had a tendency to do. As she had hoped for, the donut was long forgotten the moment she graced them with her presence.

"So, the Amazing Grace has returned," Rodriguez said, with a wide grin. "I always knew you'd go far, kid."

"It's good to see you, Grace," Mayer added, matching Rodriguez's smile. "How is life in California?"

"Good. Great, even."

"I don't believe you," Mayer answered back quickly.

"It is good. Work is fantastic, we may have just got Red John..."

"We heard about that!"

"Yeah, that's great," Rodriguez said warmly, "but?"

"My fiancé died," Van Pelt eventually muttered.

"What? Craig O'Laughlin? No way," Rodriguez stated, clearly shocked. "What happened?"

"Was shot," she offered by way of explanation.

"Died in the line of duty. Very honorable," Mayer said, nodding as he did so.

They fell briefly into a respectful silence. Van Pelt knew she could have told them the truth, but then again, she hadn't even dared to broach the subject with her own father. Nor the people who already knew the truth and therefore, were more capable of understanding the gravity of the situation. So, if she couldn't discuss it with them, how would she have even considered talking about it to her old workmates? As lovely as they were, she didn't really want to give them all the gory details. The fact that O'Laughlin, the new fiancé she'd introduced to them briefly during her last visit, was dead, seemed to be one shock enough. Sooner or later, she would dare to tell them the truth, but first, she would have to accept it and move on for herself.

"I take it you're here to see your old dad, then?"

"Yeah."

"He'll look after you. He's a good man, is Amos."

"Yeah," agreed Rodriguez, "and besides, there's no place like home to heal wounds."

A coffee was automatically placed in her hands. Van Pelt glanced down and took a quick sip of it. They had remembered just the way she took it. It was something she knew she should expect by now, just like she knew they wouldn't resent her for her move. However, neither fact stopped the traitorous thoughts whenever she came back here. Just like nothing could stop her from thinking about O'Laughlin for too long. Or Melody, Red John, Jane and the rest of the sorry mess her life seemed to have become. Still, she remained in silence, making sure to not so subtly steal the last donut the guys had been arguing about just ten minutes earlier. Neither of them minded, though. To them, it felt like a homecoming, a reunion of sorts. Both wished it could have been under happier circumstances, like the wedding that had been due to occur imminently. So did Van Pelt, in a way, but then she would have been married to a traitorous bastard.

"I was wondering…" Van Pelt started quietly.

"Yes?"

"Do you have any information on my mother's death? Or Mels'?"

"Oh Grace, sweetheart, you know we can't give that out," Mayer answered, sounding somewhat guilty.

"But…"

"Just because you're a shining star in Sacramento, it doesn't mean you have any authority over here," Rodriguez added, despite the hardening expression on Van Pelt's face. "And don't like at me like that. You know we'd help you if we could."

"And the cases have been archived anyway."

"Doesn't mean you have all the answers, though," Van Pelt snapped, growing increasingly frustrated. "Innocent men are put behind bars _all _the time. What if there's something you missed?"

"It's out of our jurisdiction too, remember?" Mayer said, echoing her tone. "You were still working here at the time; we were never allowed to touch the cases."

"You're right. I'm sorry. I'm just angry."

Mayer reached out and squeezed her shoulder. Yet again, Van Pelt flinched. She was getting a little sick and tired of the sympathy routine. There were only so many times you could swallow it in such a short period of time. Really, she just wanted people to act normally with her, to pretend that nothing had happened. Then maybe, she would feel a little better about it all herself.

"Understandable, sweetheart. It's a shock, losing Craig like that. Even in our career, right Rodriguez?"

xxx

When she arrived home, there was a cup of tea waiting for her on the kitchen table. It was almost as if her dad had known exactly what time she would be back. When she had left, Van Pelt had been vague about the time she would return, so this surprised her somewhat. Then again, her daddy knew her well; he probably realized just how long it would take for her to talk to Rodriguez and Mayer. Though she loved them dearly, they were rather intense and she could only take them in small doses. At least Cho and Rigsby knew how to tone it down, when needs be.

She took to her normal seat; she had always had assigned place at the table, ever since she was old enough to support herself at it. Even after the death of her mother and the rejection of her sister, she still took to it. Van Pelt couldn't possibly consider sitting in either of their places; that would have been tantamount to replacing them. Something she could never do.

Lifting the mug, she sipped at her tea. Ordinarily, she drank coffee, much like the rest of the team did. There was more caffeine in it and therefore, it kept her going throughout the day. Back home in California, tea was reserved purely for very stressful situations, mostly because as far as she was concerned, it was the taste of home. Amos Van Pelt had always claimed that too much caffeine stunted growth and she had to avoid it at all costs. However, even if he was right, she wasn't exactly petite, especially not compared to some people she knew. But still, she humored him, because he wouldn't let her say otherwise. Besides, she secretly liked drinking tea at home, in her seat; it reminded her of safer, happier times. Like Thanksgiving or Christmas, when they'd all be huddled around the table, sneaking scraps to the dogs and giving thanks for being so lucky in their lives. Or even, simpler occasions, like a Sunday roast or an evening after watching her dad's team play football. Her mom would put the kettle on, while she and Melody grabbed the mugs. Sitting in silence, they would be enjoying each others' company and relaxing, before the two of them sent off to bed to give their parents some privacy. Back then, it had all been so easy.

If she really wanted to get somewhere with reuniting her sister and father, then she would have to come up with a proper plan of action. Deep down, she had already known that Mayer and Rodriguez would be unable to fulfill her request. After all, she had dealt with desperate relatives, wanting to know every fact about their loved one's investigation. The CBI always had to reject these pleas, at least until the case was over and the material was deemed safe for public knowledge. Why else would it have been any different out here? Just because she was from a small town in the middle of Iowa, it didn't mean that the law would be that vastly different. And besides, this was the place she had trained. She knew their handbook inside out. Even now, she could still pretty much recite it from front cover to back. Van Pelt no longer had any jurisdiction in Iowa, so she had no right to request the material. Besides, her sister's case was closed and they'd released everything they needed to. As for her mother's, that was a cold case, destined to rot at the bottom of the archives unless new evidence was released.

And where the hell was she going to get new evidence from?

Melody was in no fit state to talk about what she knew, if anything at all. Even when she wasn't hospitalized and was merely her the secure unit for the mentally ill, she wasn't really capable of coherent discussions. She was too wrapped up in her own perspective of the world. Nobody could break into it, not even the medical professionals that Van Pelt was paying an extortionate amount for out of her own wages.

It seemed like it was back to plan one. The attic. It seemed like as good a place as any to start.

**TBC...**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **Another update. Want to get this out of the way so I can start posting the longer of my two Big Bangs.

Thank you to TwilightLover-CarlisleandEsme for reviewing part six.

x tromana

* * *

><p><strong>Part Seven<strong>

There were spiders in the attic.

Spiders didn't bother Van Pelt, they never had. They served an ecological purpose and for the most part, caused her no harm. It was just the small, but deadly ones you had to keep an eye open for. Melody, however, was terrified. As a child, whenever she spotted one, she'd point and scream the house down until Van Pelt, or their parents, saved her from the horrific arachnid. That had always made her laugh; seeing her big sister transformed into a quivering wreck over something as small as a spider. Van Pelt had tried to explain that they wouldn't hurt her, but Melody wasn't having it. As far as she was concerned, all spiders had to be killed as they were the scourge of the universe.

If she knew that her belongings had been left to gather dust along with the spiders in the attic, she would have been horrified.

In one desperate plea, she had told Melody about it. Just to try and make her see sense about it all. Van Pelt had hoped that talking about how their dad was reacting would jolt her out of whatever it was that was tormenting her. That it would make her realize that what she was doing was hurting other people. Losing their mom had been devastating enough, without her actions tearing the family in two. As the younger sibling, Van Pelt had never been one for mediation. She had always been the one allowed to cling onto childhood innocence. To play as many sports as feasibly possible, to go investigating the countryside, to get into trouble and have somebody pull her out of it. It had never been her place to do the rescuing.

That was until she had chosen to grow up herself and decide to pay her debt to society by becoming a cop. To this day, she still wasn't entirely sure how or why she had decided on her career choice. It was possibly the influence of one of her cousins, Jason. He had signed up for the force and often spoke about her exciting it was to her when she was small. That made it seem like fun and even without Jason's stories, it looked like there was something thrilling about it. Then, there was the fact it was a challenge. So few women made it all the way and she was determined to be one of the best at it. Her competitive streak had been something she firmly inherited from her father and it didn't bother her for a second. After all, her career was already showing signs of eclipsing Jason's; last time she heard from him, he was still a sheriff in Arizona somewhere. Then again, he had also never shown signs of wanting to move up the career ladder and achieve more.

But all that was beside the point. She wasn't here to think about work; she was here to _avoid_ doing just that. Van Pelt would have been lying if she said she was entirely happy with the justice department right now; recently, she had been exposed to far too much corruption. It wasn't something she could easily brush aside, not yet anyway. In a way, she needed to remind herself that the people she knew best were all good, honest agents, working hard to solve crimes. Not everyone was like O'Laughlin, lying through their teeth for their own devious ends. Dwelling on all that wasn't going to bridge the gap between her father and sister. What would was looking through all the crap that had amalgamated over the years to see if her sister's diaries had remained intact.

After a good two hours of searching, she hit jackpot. Quickly, she picked up the small shoebox before heading back to her bedroom. She was glad that, unlike herself, Melody had always had an affection for the written word. Had always recorded her thoughts and feelings whereas she tended to bottle them up and push them down. It was better that she did that instead of just ignoring the problem, even if Melody had never dared tell other people her problems. At face value, people would have always assumed that she would have been the one headed for a breakdown, not Melody. Especially so as her sister had always seemed so bright and cheerful to other people whereas she was the uncontrollable one, lashing out whenever things got out of control.

It was funny how fate liked to throw a curveball like that.

xxx

The diary felt heavy in her hands. Not because it was a big book, far from it in fact, but because of the memories scribbled down inside of it. For such a small object, it felt strangely oppressive. Her sister had poured her heart and soul into it, the things that she didn't dare tell another soul. Melody had been fiercely private as a child and would have loathed it if she found out her inquisitive younger sister had leafed through it. These thoughts and emotions were things that she didn't want anyone else knowing; she merely wrote them down as a record for herself.

Except Van Pelt, nobody else, not even their dad, had known about the diaries. Not until she suffered her breakdown and he ransacked her room, at any rate. Van Pelt herself had only found out about it by chance, shortly before her tenth birthday. It had been a rainy day and she had wanted to do some painting, but run out of paper. Completely ignoring the 'do not disturb' sign on the door, Van Pelt had barged in to demand Melody give her what she required. Her sister had reacted hysterically, almost as bad as the time she found a wolf spider at the foot of her bed. All because she was writing her diary.

After that, she had scrawled the covers with 'Do Not Read, Grace' and usually hid them in boxes. It was almost as if she knew that sooner or later, her sister would want to read her deepest, darkest thoughts.

Van Pelt allowed her fingers to run along the spine of the diary and then, across the cover. She had read people's diaries in the course of duty time and time again, but this was different. For a start, she knew Melody. And she wasn't dead. It felt more like an invasion of privacy than just mere work. In reality, that was exactly what it is. However, at the same time, she knew that this would be the only way she would get any answers.

On the day their mother had died, Melody had been at home, with her. Van Pelt had been with their father, watching a baseball match during a rare day off from work. Much to Amos' chagrin, Melody had never shown the as much of an interest in sport as her younger sister had. Of course, she was more than willing to attend a game every so often, but not as frequently as their dad would have liked. She shook her head as the memories came flooding back. The harried phone call from Melody mid-game, the rush home to see their mother, collapsed on the couch. The ambulance arriving, sirens blaring, whisking them to the local hospital. Waiting impatiently for news, watching her father pace and her sister holding her head in her hands. Fearing the worst, but hoping for the best. Wondering what the hell had happened while they had been absent.

Then, they received the fateful news that led to their whole world collapsing.

She remembered the feeling in the pit of her stomach, the sense of despair. It was something that she had never even considered happening to her and her family. Who exactly would imagine losing their mom at the age of twenty two? Melody, naturally, had taken the news the worst. She had been the one present when it had happened, she probably thought that she would have been able to stop it. The police had questioned her aggressively time and time again. Van Pelt had asked them to back down, insisted that Melody couldn't have been capable of doing such a thing, but she just got told to 'butt out' of their case. That she had her own to be working on.

But then again, they had sowed the seeds of doubt in the back of her mind. What if Melody had done something? Accidentally, of course. She would never have intentionally hurt anyone. Would she?

Van Pelt opened the front cover.

The door swung open and like Melody had, all those years ago, Van Pelt jumped. She hadn't expected to be interrupted by her father. In his hands was a cup of tea - of course - and a plate of cookies. His eyes were drawn to the diary in her hands; she didn't need to tell him for him to know exactly what it was. Without prying eyes, he had probably pored over it just as intensively as she had been seconds before she was disturbed.

"Oh Gracie, do you have to keep trying to open up old wounds?"

xxx

"Dad…"

She left him a couple of hours, just to allow him to cool down a little. Van Pelt knew that the mere mention of her sister sent him flying off the handle. Melody's repeated attempted suicides had really unsettled him, had really put a barrier between the two of them. Sometimes, she wondered if that really was the only problem. If there was more to it than that. Though she knew that parents should never tell their kids such things, Amos had always told her that she was his favorite daughter, even before her sister had been institutionalized.

"Grace."

He was clutching hold of a picture of his wife, Van Pelt's mother, and staring at it intently. This wasn't unusual; even after seven years apart, he still missed her desperately. Then again, so did she. No amount of wishing was ever going to bring her mother back. Nor would it change everything else that was happening. Still, Van Pelt sat beside him, thoroughly relieved that he hadn't cast her aside as he could so easily have done. Instead, they remained in deathly silence. They both knew she had come here to recover after O'Laughlin's death, but instead, a whole new can of worms had been opened. And it was her fault. If she had come here and told him about O'Laughlin's deceit, about Jane shooting a man who was thought to be Red John, then maybe, this would never have happened. She hated arguing with her father, it reminded her far too much of everything they had lost so far. They couldn't lose each other now, not with the family already being in such a state of disrepair.

But equally, the secrecy surrounding her mother's death was becoming unbearable. She wanted, needed, answers and nobody seemed willing to give them to her. People had always alluded to her mother's diabetes as being the cause of her demise and that was what the doctors who had tried to save her had said. However, the police had always insisted that it was more complicated than that. How, they wouldn't share, not even with her on a colleague to colleague basis. Sometimes, she hated the bureaucracy associated with the job. It was little wonder the general public didn't trust the law these days; there was too much red tape to every get a straight answer out of them.

"Why?" he eventually asked, unable to bear the atmosphere any longer.

"Don't you want to know what happened to mom? To Mels?"

"No."

"Why not?" she inquired, somewhat aggressively, though not regretting it for a second.

"What if I find out something I don't like, Gracie?" he asked, the unshed tears shining in his eyes. "Sometimes the truth hurts."

"More than not knowing at all?"

"Yes."


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: **Quick update is quick. I'm tired and have work in the morning. Blah.

Thank you to: Aeidhryn for reviewing chapter seven.

x tromana

* * *

><p><strong>Part Eight<strong>

She headed straight to the cemetery. A bunch of red roses - her mom's favorites - were clasped in her left hand as she wove her way through the gravestones. Sometimes, at night, she still spoke to her mother. Van Pelt knew that she was still there; Yolanda had spoken to her a couple of times after her death. Unfortunately, her psychic cousin's connections had never provided her with any useful information. But then again, the gift was fleeting and uncontrollable. And just because somebody had passed on, it didn't grant them omniscience. Still, talking to her occasionally provided Van Pelt with a great comfort. If she was occasionally feeling lonely and ever needed a friendly, sympathetic ear to listen, her mom would be there for her.

Like she had been when she was a kid.

Whenever Van Pelt had bottled things up for too long, she just had to explode. It was always her mother who had been there to pick up the pieces. To tell her that everything would be fine. To put the proverbial band-aid over the wounds until the next time it was required.

As she grew older, Van Pelt may have found it easier to manage her emotions, but it didn't mean that she wasn't prone to bursts of anger still. It was just that she left them firmly behind closed doors, only allowed her colleagues and friends to see her bright, optimistic side. She didn't want to make anyone unhappy and therefore, shared the good while locking down the bad.

"Hi, mom."

The grave was immaculately maintained. Van Pelt knew that her father came down regularly, to ensure that it looked perfect. She knelt down beside it, looking for something to do. No weeds needed pulling and the flowers her dad had left three days ago were still bright and fresh. Everything looked as perfect as the house her mother used to keep. Still, she busied herself with reorganizing the blooms. It was better than just doing nothing at all, staring at the grave and wishing that her mom was still alive. That she would be able to give her some good advice for mending a broken heart. Or that the family would still be intact instead of fractured due to the loss of the one person who could hold them all together.

Eventually, she just started to pour her heart and soul out to her mom. She had talked about work time and time again, behind closed doors, in the hope that she would be listening in heaven. But she hadn't updated her, not yet. Talking was a form admission, of realizing that what had happened was real, to Van Pelt. But now, she needed to. The only other person she could consider telling, her dad, was furious with her. She needed to mend things with him before she told him the truth about O'Laughlin. However, her mom would. She always did, or so Van Pelt liked to think. Therefore, it all came out by the graveside. How the second man she had truly loved betrayed her completely, how Lisbon had nearly lost her life because of it, how Jane had killed a man instead of looking to the team for support. That Melody was still trying to kill herself, despite the efforts of many to prevent her from doing so. And that her dad was still angry with her, angry with Melody, angry with the world since her passing. The tears flowed as she spoke and there was nothing that Van Pelt could do to stop them. This was something she needed to do; it was a catharsis. She also knew that this wouldn't be the last time it happened because of this situation, but it was better to get the process started than to continually lock it down.

This was the kind of thing that people said would make her feel better. Unfortunately, she didn't feel much different. If anything, she was a little more bitter because so many bad things had happened to her at once. What had she done to deserve so much bad luck recently?

xxx

"What are you doing here?"

The last people Van Pelt had expected to greet her at home were Rodriguez and Mayer. Truth be told, she had expected them to still be at work; she never really stopped before six p.m. unless explicitly told to. And even then, those incidents were few and far between. If she had never worked in Iowa, then she would have put it down to the differences between working in a small town and a state capitol. However, this was where she started her career and she knew that despite the cases being significantly less interesting, they were still rushed off their feet.

"Oh, that's just charming, isn't it?" Rodriguez said with a smirk.

"Well?"

"Is there somewhere quiet we can talk?" Mayer asked politely and she nodded in response.

She took them through to the den, shooed Lily and Bouncer out and firmly shut the door behind them. Her dad was out, but she knew that Mayer would appreciate the smaller room, in comparison to the kitchen. Van Pelt folded her arms and stared at them searchingly. It was only then that she noticed that Rodriguez had a plastic carrier bag in his hands and inside, a familiar looking manila folder.

"Is that what I think it is?"

"It is," Mayer confirmed.

"But how…"

"Look, Gracie, we had to pull some strings to do this," Rodriguez said, looking uncharacteristically nervous. "If people find out…"

"I know, thank you."

She smiled slightly as she accepted the file. Right now, she wasn't entirely sure how she felt about it, not after her little breakdown at the cemetery. Still, Van Pelt decided that she should take it as a sign. That her mom wanted her to discover the truth. These things happened for a reason and that was usually to learn from them. She had made a lot of mistakes of late and therefore, had a lot of learning to do. Still, she could only focus on one thing at a time and right now, it was looking like she was making the right decision to focus on her family instead of her own personal woes.

"Why couldn't this wait until later? Not that I'm not grateful, or anything…"

"Oh, we were just passing by."

"The Reynolds place has been burglarized," Mayer expanded.

"Oh no," Van Pelt said, a little shocked. "Who would do such a thing to them?"

"That's what we've gotta find out, sweetie."

"You go do that," she replied, shooing them both out of the room.

"I hope you get the answers you're looking for, Grace," Mayer added quickly. "Really, I do."

"Thanks, me too," she answered back.

As they rushed off down the driveway, Van Pelt waved at them. She hoped that they wouldn't get into too much trouble for releasing confidential files to her. They didn't deserve that kind of mess, not just to help an ex-colleague for old times' sake. Besides, they were some of the good guys, dedicated to their jobs and honest to the core. That was more than could be said to some law enforcement professionals she had known of late.

xxx

She stared at her cell phone, dumbfounded.

Rigsby had sent her a text message.

Van Pelt hadn't expected any of the team to contact her while she was away. Part of her thought that because she was trying to temporarily forget about them, that they were doing the same to her. Now she knew that that was a foolish view to take. There were still so many loose ends regarding the recent debacle. Ones that Cho and Rigsby had been left to tie up, with the help of a couple of other agents from other departments. However much she didn't want them to, of course they were going to touch upon O'Laughlin and his role in the whole matter sooner or later.

Slowly and steadily she re-read the words in the short message over and over, trying to take in the repercussions of it. O'Laughlin had never been a member of the FBI; he'd been merely posing fraudulently as a cop. It had all been a part of his and Red John's scheme to allow him to worm his way into the CBI and eventually, Van Pelt's heart. In a way, it made her feel a little better about the situation, or at the very least, her job. He was one less corrupt cop, going completely off the rails. However, they were meant to be able to detect things like that and he'd been able to pose as someone he wasn't for so long. And even though he had been masquerading as a cop, it didn't erase all the damage he had done to her.

He'd still aimed to kill Lisbon. Would have succeeded too, if it hadn't been for such a duff shot.

Still used her to get to Jane, to the whole team, even.

Made her fall in love with him.

If it hadn't been for that, then maybe the revelation would have been more of a relief. However, it just settled uncomfortably in her stomach. How could she have not noticed that he wasn't a cop? Had she really been that blinded by love to miss the most obvious clues? And if she had noticed, then maybe, things would have panned out differently.

She wouldn't have been feeling so heartbroken, for a start.

Even if it had been easier to accept, it still wouldn't have been enough for her to return home. For a start, her mandatory leave was still in place. This development wouldn't have been enough to convince LaRoche to revoke that. Then, there was the fact that she was still recovering from being involved in a shooting. Just because some cops were capable of returning to work the morning after, it didn't mean she was. She was younger, less experienced. This kind of thing still came as a shock to her. And besides, thanks to Mayer and Rodriguez, she finally had more information about her mother's death. Van Pelt was more than aware that she was covering old ground that older, possibly wiser, cops had already gone over with the case. However, a fresh set of eyes never hurt anyone. Besides, she understood her sister's mind better than they would have and she sincerely doubted that they had access to all of Melody's diaries. Or even considered looking in them at all, for that matter.

Most importantly, she needed to do this, for her sake, as much as anyone else's. If she could close this one specific case, she would have the answers she craved. Be able to get her father to see sense. And she would be able to prove to herself that the job was still worthwhile, despite all the tragedy involved with it all.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: **I'm officially useless at updating.

Sorry to anyone who's been waiting, but this is the penultimate chapter.

x tromana

* * *

><p><strong>Part Nine<strong>

Over the next couple of nights, she spent hours poring over her sister's diary and her mom's case file, trying to absorb all the information. There was a lot more than she expected, for some reason. Then again, for the most part, she had avoided trying to think about it at all. The fact that the police had come to no logical conclusion had always infuriated her, especially as she, along with the rest of the team with the CBI, had closed far more complicated cases than this one. However, they did have far more resources, which were always a benefit. But that didn't change the fact it was still, technically, unexplained. It didn't mean that she felt that the authorities here had thought her mom wasn't worth putting the effort into.

The main gist of the case was that her mother's blood sugar levels had dropped drastically low. Then, she had received a shot of insulin, causing her to slip into a hypoglycemic coma. Van Pelt had known that already; the doctors had told them that it was the diabetes that had killed her. That they hadn't been able to pull her out of the coma, despite being rushed to hospital as quickly as possible. They never suspected foul play; it was just one of those things that happened to people with her debilitating disease. The main sticking point in the police notes was whether or not her mom had administered the insulin shot herself, either intentionally committing suicide, or mistaking the sensations for something else or if somebody else had done it to her after she'd fallen unconscious. That somebody else being her sister, Melody, as nobody else had been present at the time.

Van Pelt racked her brains, trying desperately to think about what her mom had been like when she had had too much or too little sugar in her system. All she could remember was the sheer terror as her mother completely lost it, until somebody managed to help her get it under control. Despite having had juvenile onset diabetes since before Van Pelt and even Melody, had been born, their mom had never quite mastered keeping the disease under control. It had been a constant worry in their lives; what if she forgot to eat today, what if she misplaced her insulin? She had immediately disregarded the concept of suicide. While the diabetes did dampen their mother's spirit on occasion, she was still full of life and determined to enjoy herself. Though her daughters had been grown and had either left home, or were going to very soon in Van Pelt's case, she was proud of them. She wasn't beginning to show signs of empty nest syndrome. As for Melody, well, Van Pelt couldn't have even been sure that her sister knew how to use their mom's insulin pen, never mind give her a fatal dose of the hormone.

With a sigh, she turned over the page in Melody's diary. She had skipped over a lot of the detail, mostly because it was irrelevant and she still felt guilty for reading through her sister's innermost thoughts.

However, she didn't need to read anything to notice a few things. First, some dates were missing. Van Pelt knew that her sister wrote in it daily, if not more. Secondly, their mother's death, the frightening day spent at the hospital was completely absent. It skipped from everything being fine to the day of the funeral from one page to the next. Finally, and more importantly, was the serrated edge of paper near the spine of the diary.

Several pages had been ripped out.

xxx

At dinner time, she ignored the plate of chili already placed at her seat. Instead, Van Pelt slammed the diary on the table and glared at her father. She couldn't even bring herself to sit beside him. As soon as she had seen that pages were missing, she knew exactly who was responsible. Melody had always wanted to be an author. It was all she had ever spoken about doing, had spent all of her time honing her craft, until she had her breakdown. She respected books and the written word, would never actively destroy it. Even if the words said things she didn't like or want to read, she still believed they deserved to exist. There was no way she would ever have been able to bring herself to desecrate her diary.

Her father, on the other hand…

"When?"

"When what?"

"When did you do this?" she snapped, rifling through the pages. "When did you destroy half of Melody's diary?"

"You're mistaken," he answered back, with an edge to his tone.

Van Pelt sat down opposite him and glared.

"How dare you," Amos said, eventually breaking the silence. "How dare you, my own daughter, come into my own home and accuse me of such a thing?"

"How dare _I_? What are you keeping from me, Amos?"

As far as Amos was concerned, the use of his first name was a sign of disrespect. That was exactly the reason why Van Pelt had used it. How could she respect him right now? There he was, sitting opposite her, lying continually. She had learned from the best, she knew the basics of how to read people now. Watching Jane meant she too had learned certain tells and everything that her father was saying and doing was pointing towards deception. He couldn't hold her gaze, kept fiddling with his fork, glancing over at Buster and he could barely sit still. Most tellingly, he hadn't stood up to berate her physically, as she had expected him to.

"Well?" she prompted.

"I think you should leave now," he stated, still not looking at her. "You're not welcome here any more."

xxx

She returned home, to Sacramento, without another word to her dad. And in time, she was back at work. It was good being back, especially as Lisbon was too, albeit purely on desk duty. It felt like some kind of homecoming. And besides, at least they were all trying to patch up the damage done rather than just her, on her own.

Van Pelt tried not to think about what she had discovered - or not, as the case may be - in Iowa. It wasn't going to do her any good dwelling on it. However, that hadn't stopped her from bringing the damaged diary back home with her. The case file had long since been returned to Mayer and Rodriguez, with a thank you note and a gift certificate for the local pizza place she knew they loved. She was genuinely grateful for their help; without them, she wouldn't have discovered that her own father had been habitually lying to her for years.

As if she hadn't had enough people let her down of late.

Going back to Iowa was meant to prompt the healing process. All it did was make things worse. On top of everything else, this was the last thing she needed. The last thing she deserved. Still, at least she could throw herself into their current cases, instead of worrying about what she was going to do next. And Lisbon would defend her right to be back at work to the hills, provided that she did a good job. She admired her boss' tenacity and that was half the reason she was determined to work through this funk she was caught up in. That and she knew that if she didn't, she would fall to pieces again and Van Pelt couldn't be sure that she would be able to pull herself back together again this time.

The only problem was that the others, especially Rigsby, insisted upon treating her with kid gloves. As if she would fall apart at any given moment. His tentativeness continually reminded her of everything that had happened of late. If they would just treat her as they did before everything, then maybe she would have had half a chance of forgetting it. Or at least, pushing it to one side as if it was of no import. With a sigh, Van Pelt grabbed hold of a donut. They had reached a sticking point in their current case, with several potential suspects. Some looked more guilty than the others, but they all knew that didn't necessarily mean a thing. Instead, they would have to chase up each and every lead until they found the evidence required.

"Right, so Cho and I will go and talk to the gang leader. Van Pelt I want you to-"

"No, boss," Cho interrupted and Lisbon cocked her head slightly in response. "It could get dangerous and with your arm."

"Honestly, Cho, I'll be fine."

"You can't know that. Rigsby and I will go."

"Fine," she snapped back with narrowed eyes. "But we're going to have a talk about this later."

Rigsby and Cho quickly disappeared, heading straight towards the elevator. Van Pelt could immediately tell that Lisbon was furious with Cho subverting her authority, even if they did have her best wishes in mind. Then again, it was pretty similar to her situation. Nobody seemed to want to trust either of them to do their jobs properly, at least not until they could prove they were both fully recovered. While Lisbon's was a physical injury and full of potential dates of when she would be fully better, hers was less obvious. This could quite easily be something she would have to live with for years.

"What did you want me to do, boss?"

"We're going to talk to the wife," Lisbon said with a sigh. "You'll have to drive. Are you sure you're up for it?"

"Of course. I'm fine."

There was a skeptical expression on Lisbon's face. Then again, it was the exact same one they had all just shot the boss minutes earlier, so it was entirely fair.

xxx

Van Pelt was relieved when she finally got home. It took them longer than they would have liked to question the mourning woman. Of course, it had affected her a little bit; her dad had been much the same when her mom died. However, Lisbon had complimented her on just how well she kept it all together and that had brightened her spirits a little. And the woman had provided some useful information with regards to their case, which was always a good thing.

As she always did, she dropped her keys on the sideboard and it wasn't until then that she noticed the small envelope resting on her welcome mat. Immediately, she recognized the handwriting and it was with some trepidation that she picked it up. In silence, she fingered her dad's messy handwriting, wondering what it was that he had to say to her. Why he had just sent her a letter, instead of bothering to call. Maybe it was just another confirmation that he truly didn't want anything to do with his two girls?

In a moment's indecision, she slung it haphazardly next to her keys and headed straight to the kitchen to turn on the kettle. As the water was boiling, she rushed back and picked it up. Roughly, she tore it open. She couldn't wait any longer. Regardless of the contents, she needed to know what it actually said, good or bad. Van Pelt was still convinced that it was better to know, one way or another, than to live for the rest of her life always wondering.

Three sheets of paper fell out as the kettle boiled over. She ignored it. Instead, she picked up one of them, the one with the least amount of writing on it. The only piece that was in her father's handwriting. All it had was one sentence on it.

_You're right, _he had written_. I think you deserve to know the truth._


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: **So, the last chapter finally.

Thank you to anyone who has read up to this point. I would love to know what you thought.

Next, I'll start posting Causality. Which, again, is a slightly different project for me.

x tromana

* * *

><p><strong>Part Ten<strong>

Her sister had done it. She hadn't meant to, but she had accidentally killed her mother.

No wonder she was ashamed, no wonder she fell into the deep end. Anybody else would have done so.

Melody had essentially confessed to the deed in her own words, in her own diary. A diary that her father had probably discovered only days after his daughter had first attempted suicide. Then, he had attempted to cover up the deed by disposing of the pages. And yet, he had kept them. Why? Probably because he couldn't have believed it himself without the evidence before him. Van Pelt knew that she wouldn't have either, not without it being written in Melody's hand before her.

Their mom had had the hypo. Melody had tried desperately to get her to eat something, some dextrose, a bar of chocolate, but she had remained unresponsive. Failing that, she had grabbed her supplies, tried to find the glucagon supplies which was to be used in emergencies. And accidentally, she had administered insulin instead, making the situation all the more dire. Instead of responding positively, as Melody had expected, their mother had slipped into a deeper coma. One that she was never going to recover from.

It was an accident, a tragic mistake, made by a panicking young woman. However, Melody could never see it like that. Not with a sister having a budding career in law enforcement. All she could think about was the fact it appeared to be a criminal act, that nobody would believe she was innocent and it was just a case of her misreading a small label. People would have preferred to see something that wasn't there and dragged her down into the mud.

As if she was driven by compulsion, Van Pelt headed towards the lounge and grabbed her sister's diary. In it was her last entry, the one where she had made her decision to end her own life. Melody spoke of her mom, how much she loved her, how much she missed, how she wished things had been different. Written about how sorry she was to her father and little sister. How she couldn't even consider living any longer because it just hurt too much.

Tears pricked at the corners of Van Pelt's eyes as she slammed the book shut. Did she feel any better knowing the truth? Not yet, but she knew that time would come. Right now, it was all too complicated and just another blow to add to the many she had already received of late. She was still in the process of coming to terms with everything Craig O'Laughlin had done, from falsifying his position in the FBI, to nearly killing her boss, all for Red John. Then there were the repercussions associated with that; Jane's problems, Lisbon's injury, Cho and Rigsby's reactions to it all. And now, she had to work out how to move on from her own family's deceit on top of all that. Her dad, the only member of her immediate family left who was sane, had actively kept this from her for seven years. In some sick sort of protection, as if she couldn't cope. He'd deserted his elder daughter when she had needed him most, using her suicide attempts as an excuse to mask the truth. It was more likely that he rejected her because he blamed her for his wife's death as much as Melody blamed herself.

She sank to her knees and began to sob. This was all too much in one go. As the proverb went, it never rained, but it poured.

xxx

She called into work sick. It was something she had never done before, pretended to be unwell in order to get a day off. Every other time she had done it, she had been legitimately sick. A migraine, the flu and the like. This time, however, she was physically fine, but she needed to do some emotional healing. All Van Pelt had planned for the day was seeing Melody. After that, well, she decided she would see where her mood took her. Her sister had been released from hospital back into the care of the psychiatric institution a week ago and had apparently been doing well. Van Pelt kept her fingers and toes crossed that she would be in one of her lucid moods. That she would be able to tell her that she knew and forgave her.

Silently, she also hoped that that would be enough to encourage her sister to fight her battle with mental illness. To try and get better. Then, at least something good would have come out of all this mess.

When she pulled up at the institution, Van Pelt was a little nervous. She always was, whenever she visited her sister here. It was worse than visiting her at the hospital. There, people were being treated for physical illnesses, ones that had more obvious treatments. Mental disorders were something that people understood very little about and sometimes, the treatments seemed a little more slapdash. Like the medics were stabbing in the dark for a cure. Realistically, she knew that was a very naïve way of looking at it, but that was how it felt to her. Rather like when they were trying to find a murderer, but had no evidence to work with whatsoever.

After a good five minutes of just sitting in her car, she finally swallowed deeply and headed towards the building. Eventually, she pushed the door open and all too soon, she was at the reception desk. The woman looked up at her and instead of the usual smile, her face was haunted. Something had happened to one of the residents; the staff often looked visibly upset if that was the case. Instead of greeting Van Pelt in her usual bright manner, the receptionist immediately called for the manager and asked her to take a seat while she waited.

Van Pelt knew one thing: this could only mean bad news. Still, she took to her seat and tried to ignore the twitching in her left leg. Instead, she tried desperately to look for the bright side. Maybe her sister had just taken a turn for the worse and had to be rushed back to hospital. Or maybe, she had attacked one of the nurses and was having to be dealt with accordingly. Or possibly…

She stood as she heard footsteps approaching. Quietly, the manager beckoned her towards his office and nervously, she fell into step behind him. This wasn't good, if anything, by the look on his face it was very, very bad. Still, she muttered a silent prayer, desperately willing to her sister to still be alive, at the very least.

"I'm sorry, Grace, but we did try to call you. Your sister's dead. She finally managed to commit suicide."

For some reason, it wasn't a surprise. Even as she had been muttering the Lord's Prayer, she had known it was too late.

xxx

It wasn't until she got home that she even considered called her father.

She needed time to process the news herself, time to understand all the repercussions. Even though it was something she had vaguely expected to happen sooner or later, it was still like a blow to the gut. What hurt the most was the timing, not that Melody was likely to have had any inkling about everything else that was going on in Van Pelt's life. Yes, she may have told her, but she was unconscious at the time. She wouldn't have heard a word about her little sister's bitter outburst at her bedside. No, the problem was that she had so much more to be dealing with and this was just another thing to throw on top of the pile.

Eventually, she picked up her cell phone and fingered it lightly. This was one of those phone calls that she had always dreaded. It had always been bad enough passing the information onto strangers, but this was different. It was her father she was telling. Despite everything that had happened, she was still convinced that deep down, he loved Melody. After all, she was his firstborn child. There was always something special about that, or so she had been led to believe. It didn't matter that he had always been closer to the younger of his two daughters, Melody was still the first and nobody could have taken that away from her.

And besides, no parent should outlive their children, in any circumstances.

"Dad, no please talk to me," Van Pelt begged the moment he answered her call. He may have been angry, hated the pair of them right now, but she still needed to be the one to tell him. "Melody's dead. She committed suicide last night."

xxx

"Van Pelt, my office."

Rolling her eyes, she hauled herself up from her chair and followed Lisbon to her office. She knew exactly what was going to happen and at that moment in time, she didn't care. There was a reason she was so preoccupied and Lisbon already knew it. Shortly after telling her father, she had called into work to take another day off and explained briefly what had happened. Naturally, Lisbon had been understanding enough, even if she hadn't approved of her coming back so soon. Then again, as far as Van Pelt was concerned, she was in no place to judge. She had rushed back to work herself and it was blindingly obvious to everyone who knew her that Lisbon's recovery was being slowed by that. If she had taken a little more time off, just to allow her arm to heal fully, then she wouldn't have been in so much pain right now.

"Your standards are slipping," Lisbon stated, with her right hand resting on her desk. "Is there anything else I need to know about?"

"No."

"There's something on your mind."

"Of course there's something on my mind, it doesn't take Jane to work it out!"

"Van Pelt!"

"Sorry," she added quickly, though she didn't mean it. "But it's true."

She took the seat opposite her boss, though she didn't really want to. Quietly she hoped that Lisbon wouldn't be driven to give her more mandatory leave. That was the last thing she needed right now, more time to think over all the crap that was happening. It would be enough to drive her insane, if she wasn't careful. Van Pelt watched as Lisbon took a sip of her coffee and placed it to one side. Deep down, she knew that this was just her way of showing that she cared. Lisbon had never been particularly good at connecting with the people she worked with, had always preferred to remain a little bit aloof. She had been getting better recently, but the Jane thing had shaken her up, caused her to retract into her shell again. Then again, it had shaken them all.

"I know that the funeral is tomorrow."

"Yes, it is."

"Are you sure you want to work the rest of the day?" Lisbon enquired, though they both knew exactly what the answer was going to be.

"I'm fine."

"If I believed that, I'd believe anything."

"I don't know what else to say," Van Pelt replied.

Having a heart to heart with her boss wasn't something she intended to do. Lisbon was right; the professional boundaries did serve a purpose, sometimes. If she chose to tell her everything now, then it could quite easily make things more uncomfortable in the future.

"I'm worried about you."

"I know."

"If you need anything…"

"I know," Van Pelt replied simply. "Thanks, boss."

xxx

There was a knock at her door.

She didn't know who it was. It was late, too late even, for general house calls. Van Pelt hoped it wouldn't be any of the team, that Lisbon would have warned them off disturbing her. Although Lisbon had known - had always known thanks to her record - about her sister, neither Cho nor Rigsby had known about her existence. Both of them had never touched it and therefore, it had been easy to keep a secret about her. Even while she had dated Rigsby, she had never brought up the subject, had never felt the need to. If their relationship had progressed from illicit office affair into something more, than maybe that would have been different. Instead, as far as they were concerned, her cousin was in town and they were meeting up for coffee. Sooner or later, she would tell them the truth, probably. If she told them now, they would end up feeling even sorrier for her and treat her even more differently at work.

The knocking repeated, louder this time.

With a sigh, she hauled herself up from the couch. It was obvious that whoever was disturbing her wasn't going to go away any time soon. Van Pelt swallowed as her hand connected with her door and she slowly opened it.

It was her dad.

Naturally, she had told him the date of the funeral. Like the death, Van Pelt had considered it his right to know. It was his prerogative whether or not he attended. She wouldn't have judged him either way. Old animosity was always hard to shake off, even when it came to loved ones. But he had still deserved the chance to say goodbye to his daughter, rather than being actively excluded from it. That was something she could have done quite easily, considering his treatment of her. If he had only told her from the start what had happened, then things could have been different.

Then again, he might have been scared that she would have reported it to the police. It would have been her duty to do so, as an officer of the law. There was a vast difference between having a clinically insane daughter and one who was insane as well as being a criminal. However, Van Pelt knew that the likelihood of Melody having been charged was negligible. It had been a tragic mistake and her mental health would have added to the likelihood that she would have been acquitted of all charges.

Besides, having a family who knew the whole sorry affair and would have stood by her could have saved her life.

But it was never meant to be. Just like she and O'Laughlin weren't.

She didn't have to say a word to her dad. Immediately, he whisked her up into a tight bear hug and whispered 'I'm sorry' down her ear.

It didn't go all the way to repairing the damage, but it was a start.

xxx

She sat in the kitchen, with a cup of tea in hand. With a sigh, she stared at the murky brown and turned the mug around slowly. The heat was slowly dissipating from it, but she didn't care. It wasn't important; what truly was, in the scheme of things? Everything was so fleeting, nothing could last forever. Even so, however much things changed, there were some things that always stayed the same. Tea would always be her comfort drink of choice, her family would never be truly fixed. Her sister was gone now, just like her mother before her.

Her job would provide a solace, but it couldn't stop the invading thoughts whenever she was off-duty. Thoughts that would still sometimes creep up unexpectedly while at work too.

Van Pelt stood, leaving the mug where it was. With a sigh, she headed towards her bedroom, ignoring the creaking floorboards. The sun was already beginning to rise, but she knew that she ought to show willing and try and sleep. Just like her dad was doing, twisting and turning uncomfortably in her spare bedroom. Besides, she had a funeral to attend in the morning. A speech to say, though what could she say about her so terribly damaged elder sister?

Another cup of tea was left stagnating on the kitchen table. Like so many other things, it was something that would have to be dealt with later.

end


End file.
